


Unannounced

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, cap 2 spoilers, spoilers for captain america the winter soldier, winter soldier spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America 2 Spoilers, Spoilers for Captain America The Winter Soldier. I'm putting the summary in the notes for a month or two, to avoid spoilers. But if you've seen the end of the movie, this is to do with life after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unannounced

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Steve isn't quite sure if he's hunter or hunted, but something makes him trust the shadows in the dark.

The first time, he convinces himself it's a dream. 

He wakes, and _he's_ there, light glinting off metal in the swathe of shadows that make up Steve's room, the way it had in the nightmare that woke him.

_“Please don't make me do this-”_ and the pain his body still recalls – they say pain is a memory, that you can't feel it just by remembering. But his dreams are different, are agony, are the bright flare and burn of each bullet and the blade and the desperate hope that he'll be wrong this time.

This time he reaches, this time the tracks rumble beneath him and the wind steals his breath and when he throws out his hand he catches, he finds purchase, cold fingers clasped tightly in his own _I've- I've got you!_ , and the arm comes away, that still-falling figure, with a metal arm left behind in his hand and a bullet in his stomach through his back-

By the time he reaches the bedside lamp, he feels it like a fact - there's nothing to suggest anything different. 

That first time, he convinces himself it's the dream. 

~

The second time, he thinks maybe it's an angel. 

It's a Hail Mary play and he'll never make it out alive because he falls and, when he lies in the dirt with a mouth full of dust, _he's_ there, a jagged mark of red and a long, black barrel pointed straight at his head from so far away.

His boots were heavy on the ground and he's weeping blood from a wound that won't heal. His shield was heavy in his hand and his comm crackles in his ear – he's alone, the others are out, and he'll never make it in time.

They say you're good until the seventh man, that a hero is undone by the one-too-many. He can fight, he has fought, and he fought them one by one, two at a time, fought what felt like an army and he was close to failure but never like this, that last man, that one-man-too-many will be too much for him. You can fight six, but it's the seventh man – and the seventh man is coming, he can see him.

He's going to die, and he can't move to fight any more, a faceless henchman coming with a shining blade who'll tear out his heart and present it to whatever master it serves best – and then, like the breaking of ice, a shot rings out and the figure falls, too, lying in the dirt unmoving.

A hand, a flash of metal wings and he's airborne.

“God, Cap, you're gonna be the death of me – what did you eat for breakfast, concrete?”

By the time he remembers to look back at the roof, there's nothing there and his mind can't remember which way is up, can't remember anything except a name. When he speaks it, he gets a laugh in response.

“Not this time, Cap,” but he knows what he saw, even though he knows it can't be.

It was an angel, it must have been.

~

The third time, he's lucky. 

He's heard it said that it's the moment you let your guard down that will be your undoing, and he's too tired to fight it.

His feet are sore when he leaves his boots by the door, his head pounding when he turns on the light, and there _he_ is, by the window, a dark figure where he'd been standing in darkness anyway.

He _stares_ at him, a million thoughts in his mind, and he settles on his answer.

“Did you want a drink?” he asks.

The Winter Soldier doesn't answer.

“You know, we've been looking for you. I've been looking for you.”

The Winter Soldier is silent.

And he won't live this way any more.

All the pain and the endless, fruitless searching – all the desperate hopes crushed and all his wildest dreams slaughtered, he _can't live like this_ any more.

He drags a chair out from under the dining table – the one that seats seven though he only ever needs one place and only ever wishes the other places could be filled again – and pulls it into the middle of the room, drags it within striking distance of the Winter Soldier and turns it around.

“I have one favor,” he says softly, turning too, sitting down with the kind of gracelessness he never shows the outside world, his back to the Winter Soldier, the back of his head presented like a gift, “make it quick.”

Thirty seconds later, when he's still alive, he turns. The Winter Soldier is gone.

That third time, he knows how lucky he is.

~

The last time, they're all fighting together. 

There are men coming at them from all directions and they're fighting hard and fast, and Steve is about to lose. 

He's been told there's honor in dying when you're fighting, death in battle is a good death, and he's stalling for time. This isn't about him – he's just a distraction. And, when someone cries, “sniper on the roof!” he assumes the bullets are meant for him.

Until the man he's fighting falls, too quickly to show shock on his face. And then the next man, and the next and, when Steve turns, the Winter Soldier stands on the roof, sunlight glinting off silver metal, the jagged red star and a the long black barrel he always knew how to wield, a dark figure staring back at him from sky blue and concrete.

And Steve knows that, from here on in, they're all fighting together.


End file.
